The dictionary says that a place is a lot of things: a particular position, point, or area in space; a location; or a portion of space designated or available for or being used by someone, among other things. But what it fails to mention is that a place is also a moment, a person, a smell, a sound, an action. It’s not just a noun that points to a corner in the world, but a state of being.
It also says that safe is not in danger or likely to be harmed; or not dangerous or likely to cause harm; or (a place) where something is not likely to be lost or stolen. Yet again, it falls short.
So, what about the concept of safe place? My safe place are those seconds, minutes, or hours when I know I can fall apart or let it go, uncontrolled, unbounded. No restraining, no shame, no thinking. It’s the moment I understand that I need to just let everything flow through my body, my mind, my soul. It’s the smell that accompanies the air I breathe and fills not only my lungs, but also my brain, creating a memory that will be forever rooted inside of me. It’s the melody and the words that float around and ignite the rage and the calm, the cold and the fire. It’s the pain traveling all the way to my core, from the pinch to my nerves, from the hit to my muscles, from the snap to my skin, from the squeeze to my flesh, metamorphosing into pleasure. It’s the warm or cold of the shower relaxing my body. It’s the person who knows and respects, that observes and really sees, that does and is fair, that gifts and gives and understands.
My safe place is not a place, but the period of time, the moment, the metamorphosis, and you. It’s the first step I take to rebuild myself.